Pavlove
by love.never.ends.33
Summary: Patrick is divorced and Jasmin is a recent orphan. He's a rockstar and she's a boxer. He's 7 years her senior and she's still in college. They couldn't be any more different but yet they somehow cross paths. Will they find lasting love in each other or will they crash and burn? Fall Out Boy fanfic.
1. Getaway

**A/N: WOO-HOO! New story! I'm actually super embarrassed to post this because I used my name lol. The character is a lot more badass than me honestly, but I couldn't resist. It's a romance with the singer of my favorite band, how could I not?! Anyways, enjoy the story and please post reviews! I love them, good or bad :). **

**I have another chapter ready to be posted but I kind of want to see the reception of this story. I'll put it up within the week, so if you like it, don't worry you'll see more soon!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the song Pavlove or the band Fall Out Boy. (But I wish I did!)**

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><p>Despite it being a Saturday at one o'clock in the afternoon, the popular café with the green-haired Medusa was bustling with patrons.<p>

Idle chatter floated in the air along with the pleasant smell of coffee grounds. He could hear baristas repeat orders for the customers in the drive-thru and the _clink_ of tin cups banging together for the three espresso shots the woman in front of him ordered. The music was soft and easy to relax to, but he was too spun up.

He had to suppress the urge to sigh. Again. If his best friend heard him sigh one more time, he just might take him to a strip club that he so desperately wanted to avoid. When drinking didn't help "cheer" him up, his best friend decided a little trip was in order.

Now here he was in a suburban little town in Virginia, wearing his customary black hat and shades to keep his appearance in check. After all, he didn't want the paparazzi to see he was thousands of miles away from California. Away from his wife. Well, now _ex_-wife.

_You're divorced_, he bitterly reminded himself. Making sure to keep his face neutral was a difficult task in of itself. He didn't want to tip off his travel companion that running away most definitely did _not_ solve things. In fact, it made him feel like a coward, but he didn't want to make him feel bad. He was trying to help in his own weird way. He couldn't fault him for that.

"Did we really have to wear the Hollywood-camo get-up?" his friend, Pete, asked. Even though the two were in a cool air-conditioned room, the open door let the sweltering heat and humidity in. Summer was finally upon them. "At least take your hat off. You made that thing into your own Batman signal."

He, unfortunately, made a point. He didn't think the fedora would make him such a recognizable target. He casually lifted the hat off, ruffled his sweaty, dirty blonde roots and gave it to Pete. "I totally forgot about that. Good catch."

"What would you do without me, Patrick?" he jokingly asked and bumped into Patrick roughly, making him stumble into the woman paying for her coffee.

"Sorry, ma'am." He apologized while he glared at Pete, giving him a look that said _Dude, you suck_.

He just shrugged his shoulders. Rolling his eyes, Patrick carried on without missing a beat. "What are we even doing here?"

He shrugged again. "You said you wanted to get away." He was also quick to point out, "'_Any fucking place, man_.'"

The last words he said when Pete took him bar-hopping a few days ago. Man, did God hate him or what?

"Why the hell _Virginia_, though? If anything, I thought you would've dragged me to New York."

"Excuse me, but I think Virginia is rich with history and a wonderful place to relax at."

He paused for a moment. "You closed your eyes and picked a state on a map, didn't you?"

"You need to stop mind-reading, Patty-cakes."

30 years old and you would have thought that nickname had died by now. Apparently not.

Patrick wanted to complain some more until he heard a loud cough. He looked at the barista manning the cashier, all fake-smiles with the familiar green visor, ready to take the order. "I'm Cooper and I will be taking your order. What would you like to drink today, sir?"

One more withering glance at Pete and he turned back to Cooper. "Two black coffees, medium."

Cooper nodded. "Names?"

"Pete and Patrick," Pete interjected. Patrick stared at him with wide eyes. He looked back at Cooper for his reaction. He could feel his grimace contorting his face.

"Ok, two black coffees, medium, for Pete and Patrick. It'll be ready shortly." Another fake-smile and he was already paying attention to the next person in line. He released a relieved breath.

"Maybe it's a good thing we're in Virginia, then," he commented gratefully.

"Knew you'd come around to it."

While waiting, Patrick decided to people watch. For the past couple years, he had been so busy during his tours with the band that he never had time to relax. Whatever free time he did have, he made sure to use it on his wife. He felt horrible being away from her for so long, especially since the band officially began recording just a few months after their wedding. So yes, he did acknowledge that being away had a helping hand in his divorce, but he was willing to work that out.

She, however, did not.

Mentally shoving those thoughts away, he continued to watch. There was a mother with two small kids in one corner, trying very hard to read them a children's book. She looked tired. No wonder she needed the caffeine. A guy wearing old-school over-the-ear headphones listened very intently to his laptop, writing notes in a huge notebook. Probably a college kid.

He shifted his gaze beyond the open door of the café. There was a patio enclosed by a metal fence with fancy spikes. There was a girl also on her laptop, also appearing to be doing homework but did not seem to be in much of a hurry like Big Headphones Guy. Lying on the ground next to her feet was a huge duffel bag, the kind that a gym-lover would have. She wasn't alone, though. Lying on top on the duffel bag was a large German shepherd, appearing to guard the bag with its life. With the way her feet were on their tip-toes while she was sitting, she looked like she was short. It was actually pretty adorable.

"JASMIN!" Cooper shouted and the girl's head popped up. She looked around before realizing that her drink was ready. When he caught her profile, Patrick couldn't breathe for a minute.

Everything about her face screamed cute. The way her nose was curved, her apple cheeks, her dark eyes. And especially her inviting mouth.

When breathed again, he turned his head away slightly and berated himself for having such an embarrassing reaction. Also so she wouldn't notice he openly stared at her.

Since he essentially already acted like a stalker, he continued to watch her. Discreetly this time.

Her mouth began to move, and while he could happily watch her do that all day, he noticed she was speaking. To the dog. _Stay_... He couldn't catch the name. She rose from her seat and the dog did in fact stay where it was.

Her hair was tied in a high ponytail, swishing back and forth with every step she took. She looked like she came back from the gym with a top that stuck to her like second-skin, running shorts, and tennis shoes. Her hands were covered with what looked like gymnast's chalk, but she didn't look like a gymnast.

When he imagined a gymnast, he thought of very thin women. Obviously very powerful and graceful, like a gazelle. But when he looked at her, Jasmin, he thought of a lioness. She was well-defined but not obviously so. She had a quiet power and moved swiftly. It was odd for Patrick to see a girl with that kind of quality.

Small, powerful, and adorable. Oh, so adorable.

He figured she was in her 20's by how young she looked. At least, he hoped she was a college student since it appeared she was doing an assignment. Otherwise, staring at a high-schooler would be a bad start to his mini-vacation.

As she neared the counter, he raised his hand to the back of his head, pretending to scratch an itch. He angled his body toward Pete and and heard her speak.

"Thanks, Coop," she said cheerfully. He imagined that she was smiling and was tempted to turn around to see the sight. "Caramel macchiato, right?"

"That's what you always get, isn't it?" Cooper teased. Patrick betted that he never fake-smiled around her.

"Yeah, yeah. Tell Tía I said hi."

Tía. So she was Spanish, or maybe Latino. That explained her tan-colored skin.

He heard footsteps nearing and he quietly freaked out. He noticed that where he and Pete stood was the milk and sugar station. Before he could make a dash, he heard "PETE AND PATRICK!"

Out of habit, he turned around to grab the coffee and found himself staring at the short girl's dark eyes.

Her dark eyes were actually dark brown. So dark that he almost couldn't see the pupil.

Her eyes widened in shock and awe, and he knew that they'd been recognized. Instead of hearing the fanatic scream he expected, she dropped her gaze, smiled, and quietly muttered, "Ha! I'm hallucinating."

He didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Relieved that she didn't give them away and disappointed because she thought he wasn't real.

_She thinks she's _hallucinating_? That's new_.

He gave the other cup to Pete as she quickly added more milk and sugar to her drink. She closed the lid back and headed for the patio. She packed up her laptop and grabbed her duffel bag and searched for something. A treat. He and Pete were nearing the exit when they saw her give the treat to her dog.

"Good boy, Dominic," she cooed affectionately as she patted him lightly. She hoisted the bag on her shoulder and walked away.

He was staring at her figure walking away when Pete punched his arm. He swung his head toward him and yelled, "What the hell was that?!"

Pete was guffawing and clutching onto his stomach. "You should have _seen_ yourself! You're acting like a teenager!"

"So what?"

"It's the funniest thing I've seen!" Pete continued to giggle. "Hiding your face and pretending to scratch your head? Classic hide-out."

Patrick felt cheeks burning. He'd been caught staring.

"Just... shut up."

"Go talk to her." Pete encouraged.

"She recognized me."

"So? Is that so bad?"

"I don't want to take advantage of her." Patrick was known for being a "good guy" so obviously he would never do that to anybody. With her, though, it almost made him genuinely sick if he ever hurt her. "Besides, she's so _young._"

"Yeah, I thought you were immune to temptation."

Patrick shook his head in good humor. "If I'm immune, then you're a magnet for it."

"Nah, I have Meagan and Bronx to keep me happy."

At least one good thing came out of Pete's marriage: their son, Bronx. He liked Meagan a lot better than Ashley.

He decided to focus the conversation on Pete instead of the girl. "How are they doing?"

"Since Meagan's pregnant, she's been training Bronx the duties of an older brother. It's been hectic."

"I can't believe you're having another kid."

"I know, right? Life is so weird sometimes."

Patrick thought that was so underrated. He tried to keep the conversation light. "So when are you and Meagan tying the knot?"

Pete's smile faltered a little. "That's still another conversation."

"Second wedding jitters?" Patrick teased, even though he had the feeling he hit the nail right on the head.

"Maybe. I'll let you know later." Pete said rapidly. "Let's go follow your crush." And he rushed for the general direction the girl went.

Patrick took large strides to keep up with him. "Let's not," he suggested. "Have you guys decided on a name for the baby?"

"Not yet." Pete threw a sideways glance at him. "I know what you're doing and we're going to find that girl."

He scoffed loudly. "And what are we going to do? Say 'Hey, I think you're hot. Bye!' No way. Let's turn around."

Pete stopped momentarily to look at him. "Yeah," he nodded. Patrick just stared at him. "It's not like we have anything better to do."

"Did you seriously bring me to Virginia without a plan?"

"Yep! Now let's keep going before we lose her."

He groaned and felt extremely annoyed with Pete's recklessness. Part of him knew the right thing to do was force Pete the other way but he would be lying if he said he didn't want to see her again.

"We'll see where she stops and then we LEAVE. Deal?"

Pete laughed. "You're already whipped."

"I'm bored." He pretended to disregard the last statement.

As they were talking, Patrick noticed the scenery changed into something more sereneful. There was a calmness surrounding the area and then he realized they were headed for a park. Well, not a park exactly. In fact, it looked like a garden.

They were several yards away, so she wouldn't see two men were following her. _That sounded so wrong_, Patrick thought. She waved at the guard by the gate and walked straight in. When the coast was clear, Pete and Patrick went to the gate.

"Welcome to our beautiful city's botanical garden. $10 entrance fee," the guard said in a bored voice staring at a newspaper.

Patrick raised his eyebrows, surprised. "That girl just walked by without paying."

"Special exception," he drawled out the 'l' very long and slowly. Very bored.

Pete dug into his pockets and pulled out a crumpled twenty dollar bill. "At least we're sightseeing."

"Have a nice day," the guard saluted them away and went back to his newspaper.

The grounds were kept in beautiful shape. The lush green grass was trimmed to perfection and birds chirped happily.

"I'm kind of glad we followed her," Pete chimed.

"Why?"

"I think you would much rather be at a quiet place than some random party."

There was no denying that. He had his share of crazy parties back in the day. It felt nice to take a step back.

"Wouldn't you?"

"Yeah, sometimes. But I get bored really quickly."

Patrick saw her veer off the path and walk to a patch of flowers. "Well, pay attention 'cause it looks like we found where she was going."

On the path, there were two benches on either side and they picked the one that faced them away for her.

He heard her dropping the bag and snap her fingers. "Dominic, guard."

The dog's collar jingled as he walked to his designated spot. Once the jingling stopped, he knew the dog was lying on top of the bag.

After a few minutes of silence, he heard humming. It sounded so familiar. He wasn't the only one who noticed, because Pete looked concentrated all of a sudden.

_Oh. Oh. Oh-oh._

_Oh. Oh. Oh-oh._

"Is that what I think it is?" Pete asked incredulously.

_Something make my chest stir._

_Something make my head blur._

She didn't have the best voice but it was still really nice to listen to.

_I'm not ready for a handshake with death, no._

He heard her chuckle sardonically.

_I'm just such a happy mess, whoa-oh-oh._

Pavlove. The familiar tune was actually their song. The band's song. It wasn't very popular at its public debut. But here she sang it as if it were her anthem.

He felt his chest tightening. She was sad but she sounded so bright earlier. "We should leave," Patrick whispered.

"She'll see us," Pete whispered back. "Let her have her moment and when she leaves, we leave."

Even though he wanted to give some privacy, he knew he couldn't just leave in the middle of her emotional crisis.

So they sat there for a while until they heard some rustling. "C'mon, Dom. Let's go home."

When they couldn't hear her footsteps and jingling, they rose from the bench. Curious to see where she was, he crossed the lawn and went to the flower patch.

The entire lot was filled with tall shrubs of white, yellow, and pink flowers. There were two plaques. In the front and center, the first plaque read "Jasmines are known for their white petals and fragrance but there are over 200 different varieties. This collection is private to the botanical gardens and the owner who funded us to create this beautiful display. Please visit our welcome center for samples to take home." On the soil just behind the first plaque was the other. "May Angela Romero and Bernabe Romero rest in peace. Their final resting place may not be here but their souls shall always be surrounded by the warmth and love of their daughter, Jasmin."

Patrick looked at the shrub in amazement. She made all of _this_?

"You really know how to pick 'em." Pete slapped his back lightly. He saw that he empathized with the girl. It looked like she was still dealing.

"You're still not gonna make me talk to her, right?"

He eyed Patrick disdainfully. "Not after that display. You got lucky."

He smiled thankfully. "Too bad that's the last time I see her." He tried to say nonchalantly. His stomach clenched painfully at the thought. He passed it off as the coffee coming back to bite him in the butt.

Pete smiled secretly. "Maybe."

Patrick didn't think twice about it. "Now what?"

"Let's go to Chicago. I feel like going back home for a visit."

"You won't get an argument from me."

As Patrick stood at the front door, he realized he should've argued because now his family wanted to talk about the divorce.

"Oh, sweetie! My poor baby boy!" Patrick's mother enveloped him in a bone-crushing hug and treated him like glass. "Come, sit. Sit! I'll give you some warm milk and cookies, ok."

His mother pushed him on the big sofa that always seemed to eat people. "Mom, I'm not 5. I'm fine."

"Listen to the man, Pat," Patrick's father said. "He's fine."

"Oh, don't be so stupid! He went through a _divorce_. Only one year of marriage, what a pity."

Patrick sent a pleading look to his father. _Please make her stop._

He subtly nodded and said, "I think we need flour to make cookies."

"Oh dear, you're absolutely right! Patrick, sweetie, I'll be right back! David, stay with him!"

And with that his mother left and Patrick was alone with his dad. He grinned. "Thanks, dad."

David clapped his son's back affectionately and nodded. "So what are you doing back? You usually call ahead when you visit."

"This was an out-of-the-blue decision. Pete took me to Virginia to relax but..." Patrick paused and decided not to tell his father about the girl. It was still embarrassing enough that he and Pete actually followed her. "It wasn't very relaxing like he thought. So we decided to come home."

David just looked at him and he actually thought that maybe his dad did read minds.

"How's Elisa doing?"

Well... he wasn't expecting that. "Um, fine, I guess. We haven't talked since the divorce got finalized."

He shook his head sadly. "I wonder why she changed her mind. She was dating you for years, when you were on tour no less! It just doesn't make sense."

"You and me both, dad."

"Well, what's done is done." He flicked his wrist as if to shoo the subject away. "What are your plans now?"

Patrick smiled at his father's way of changing the subject. "Taking my sweet time with vacation. Tour's wrapped up and all we're focusing on is PR stuff. Always fun."

"I would think you'd be used to it by now." David winked at him.

He laughed. "It's still work nonetheless."

David looked at his watch and turned to his son. "You may want to leave now before your mother tries coddling you again."

Patrick's hands smothered his face and muttered, "I love mom but she can be too much."

"You and me both, son."

Patrick stood up from the man-eating sofa and went for the door. "I'll call next time. It might be a while till my next visit though."

"We know." David grabbed his shoulder and pulled him in a quick hug. "We'll see you soon."

"Tell mom I said bye." Patrick waved then left his parent's house. Pete was already outside waiting for him to get in the car.

"Did your mom freak out?" Pete asked as he reversed out of the driveway.

"More than usual."

"Ha! I would have loved to see that."

"Of course you would. Did your mom freak out too?"

"Yeah. She already knows about Meagan and the baby but she was even more of a nutcase about it."

"At least you brought home good news."

Pete looked at him with sympathy. "Sorry, dude."

"Don't worry about me." Patrick rubbed his eyes and realized the whole day was gone. "All these flights are tiring me out. Let's grab a hotel and go back to L.A. tomorrow."

"Sure." Patrick was just about to fall asleep when Pete yelled, "Oh! I forgot to tell you. We have an interview in the UK in a few days."

"Aw, man! I thought I had a longer vacation!"

"And now you have two days." Pete grinned like a kid running with scissors.

"I don't even want to know what you're thinking."

"Just a nice surprise for you."

Patrick widened his eyes. "Please don't tell me you hired a stripper!"

Pete chuckled from his best friend's reaction and slapped the wheel with amusement. "You'll just have to wait and see."

"It's not a stripper, right? _Right?!"_

No, it wasn't a stripper.


	2. Legend

_Just breathe_, I told myself.

Inhale. Exhale. Repeat.

When it felt like my lungs could no longer do their job, I had to give them a swift kick in the metaphorical nuts. Major breathing exercises did just that. It was painful but it helped.

Running had always given me panic attacks but they had been occurring less and less now. But when they did happen, it was a bitch to put myself in control again. Usually, you slow down to regain your breath. I stopped doing that and instead, forced my lungs to cooperate.

I wasn't kidding when I said it was painful. Panic attacks feels like a tight fist crushing your lungs together. You take shallow breaths and feel like you might suffocate from the lack of oxygen. I push those sons of bitches lungs to the limit. I breathe as deep as I can while I run. For a moment, I feel like I _will_ die because it seems that my lungs will not accept the oxygen.

And then I exhale. And inhale again. And then my lungs go back to normal.

It's the best feeling in the world when I can reclaim my lungs again. To breathe.

So why do I push myself to the limit? Why torture my poor lungs? I know I could stop. Just relax. But if I stopped... I'd be still. Motionless. Watch the world go by.

No, I could never have that. I needed to be on the move. Constantly.

A tight pinch on my arm took me away from my thoughts.

"Push it, Jasmin!" My coach yelled at me. My boxing coach. "You're on your last lap and almost pushing 30 minutes. Faster!"

I made the mistake of beating my five mile time by five minutes. He wanted me to do it again.

I gave him the dirtiest look before he pushed me further. He wanted me angry and he was getting it. I slammed the buds in my ears and put the volume as high as it would go. The music rang in my head and it was just enough fuel to pump my legs even harder.

As soon as I crossed the line, Connor, my coach, squirted ice cold water in my face. It felt just as great as breathing.

"How was that?" I managed to say between breaths. I took a huge swig from the bottle. My throat burned a little.

"31 minutes, 48 seconds," he replied disappointedly.

"I still beat my last time," I reminded him. I squirted more water on my head. I needed to take shower when I got home.

"You were supposed to do 30 minutes or less. We discussed this."

"C'mon! So what if I went over a minute? That's still pretty impressive."

"Not enough. Do it again."

"Dammit, Connor! Let me rest! I just ran 5 miles!"

"And now you'll run 5 more. Now go!"

I threw my water bottle at his face but he caught it deftly. I wanted to scream and stamp my feet like a 3-year-old having a temper tantrum.

I sprinted for as long as I could and fell to a quick run. I didn't have any panic attacks this time, but my throat still burned.

I switched the music for something more hardcore. I needed my scream-o and screeching guitars. The anger I felt for Connor and the music quickened my pace. So much so that I ran in record time.

"28 minutes, 8 seconds!" Connor cheered proudly, slapping my shoulder for a job well done.

"I'm so glad you're happy 'cuz I really feel like beating the crap out of you."

He just grinned. "Hey, you're the one who wanted me to help you get into pro boxing."

"No, you're the one who told me I had 'potential'. You practically begged me to be my coach!"

"That's ancient history."

"It was two years ago."

"Exactly! Besides, you're doing exceptionally well! You finally qualify to enter a pro match! I'm just helping."

"You want to make a name for yourself by coaching a woman."

"Maybe." I rolled my eyes. My anger was dissipating and my sore legs needed the attention more than Connor. "What are you doing for the rest of the day?"

"Gymnastics lessons and weight lifting."

He nodded approvingly. "Good. You need to focus on your flexibility training. You have powerful punches but you've been doing much better since you've taken gymnastics."

"Yes sir!" I mock saluted him.

"Don't push yourself too hard," Connor warned. My reply was a flat look that said _Are you serious? _He just made me run 10 miles! "Fine. Don't faint from exhaustion."

"I'll take naps in between then."

"Jasmin." He gripped my shoulder in his hand. "Look, I know you've been training more than usual since your parents died–"

I knocked his hand off. "Don't, Connor." I walked to the middle of the track and grabbed my duffel bag. "I know what I've been doing and I know when to quit. Don't worry your pretty beard about it."

Connor subconsciously rubbed his red chin hair after that statement. It really was awesome. "As long as you know your limits. Remember your match is in a month."

I nodded. "Are you still coming to the house tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll bring the mhuy thai pads."

I waved him goodbye and felt relieved that I didn't have to talk to him until the next day. Just because he knew my reasons it did not mean he could bring them up. Personal issues were _personal_.

It was still pretty early so I decided to pay a visit to my favorite coffee shop.

"JASMINCITA!"

So I was tackled. This was nothing new.

"Mi niña! Porque no me visitas? Me dejaste solita aquí! Tu no hablas o llamas para decir hola. Ya sabes que su tía está haciendo viejita, no? Pero te perdono, mi cielo! Dime, que cuentas? Ah, ah?"

"Tía Peti! You're killing me!" She loosened her hug but refused to let go. My Tía Penelope was a 35 year old woman who still acted like a child with ADHD. It was endearing and utterly maddening at the same time.

Her sweet smile suddenly had a bite of malice in it. Like a cheshire cat. Creepy. She pinched my cheeks hard with her fingernails and said in a heavy accent, "Talk more Spanish, Jasmin!"

"Hijole, tía! I love you but you're so annoying sometimes."

She slapped my arm.

"You do not speak to Tía Peti like this!"

I just stared at her.

Penelope was 15 when my mom brought her to the US. Mom and Dad has just bought the house and I was 3. The four of us lived together for 13 years, with me and Tía Peti sharing a room together. We grew up like sisters but I was constantly reminded to treat her with utmost respect for the aunt she was.

It hasn't really stuck.

"And you're not getting old. You're still hot."

"No me burles, bicha."

"Peti! You have lived in this country for 20 years! I know you can speak English!"

Now she sounded exasperated. "You need to speak more Spanish. Your mami and papi would have wanted you to hold on to your heritage."

Now I felt guilty. So I stopped fighting her and told her what she wanted to know. I showed her my small smile. "Mi primer torneo profesional es en un mes."

She gasped dramatically. "You're kidding! Really? REALLY REALLY?!" She reeled me in for another ferocious hug and we squealed like pigs. She ran to the tiny stage at the back of the store where local artists played and grabbed the mic. "Guess what?! My niece is a real boxer now!"

I seriously had no idea how she became store manager. But it definitely had it's perks. Discounted and occasionally free coffee and bread will always be a blessing.

"So how did you do in the Amateuer Championship?"

"Second in my class." Peti's mouth made a tiny 'o'. "Boxing managers were crawling all over the place. Most importantly, Andrew Reynolds was there!"

Andrew Reynolds was _the_ guy have in the boxing world. Over the years, he had managed to spot talent before anyone else. One of the boxers he had signed even made it to the US Boxing team! If I could pick my manager, it would totally be him. I wanted to be the _first_ female boxer he represents. And it _will_ happen.

Tía Peti was even more excited. "He was there?! Did you talk to him?"

"No, we were both too busy to talk," I told her. "But I did catch him watching me during my last match."

"That's good, no?"

I shrugged. "I have no clue. He didn't look happy or disappointed. Neutral."

Peti smoothed my hair down, even though it was stick straight. "Just keep boxing well and you'll get his attention."

"Well, if he ever comes to Virginia, I'll definitely extend an invitation."

She patted my arm softly. "When is your match exactly?"

I grabbed my phone from the outside pocket of my duffel bag. Double-checking my calendar, I replied, "September 8th. In Richmond."

Her brows furrowed in a concerned way. "Will you still have time for school?"

I nodded. "I'll act as a part-time student this semester. Online courses should be manageable while I'm training at the same time. It helped that I took summer courses, too."

"I'm glad to hear that, Jasmin." She smiled proudly at me. It reminded me of mom. Peti may be the most annoying aunt out there, but I was so glad that she was my mother's sister. When she punched my arm, the nice feeling vanished. I scowled at her. "Why has it taken you so long to visit?!"

My tan covered up what would have been the brightest blush in history. The last time I came to this Starbucks, I gawked at a celebrity look-alike. Not just any look-alike, the guy looked just like Patrick Stump. And I embarrassed myself in front of him by saying that I was hallucinating. I had been avoiding here ever since, in case he decided to come back. After I recovered, I told Peti, "I was busy. And it's only been two weeks. It's not the end of the world."

"But you didn't even call! I didn't know what happened! I thought you might have died!"

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Tía Peti could be such a drama queen. "You know where I live. You have the key."

She crossed her arms like a petulant child. "Why didn't you come?"

I sighed roughly. "I was avoiding somebody." It was no use lying to her. She would have annoyed me to death if I didn't tell her the truth.

She leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. Her eyes were bright with excitement and asked, "A boy?"

"Yes."

"Do I know him?"

I laughed. "No." She opened her mouth to say something again but I interrupted her. "Before you ask anything else, I want to point out that I don't know him either. Never met him before."

She looked confused. "Was he bothering you?"

I shook my head. "No, but it was embarrassing. He looked like the singer of my favorite band. I think he heard me say something, so I kind of just… stayed away for a while."

She laughed like I expected. "You were star-struck! He look like Patrick Skunk?"

"No, Peti. It's Patrick _Stump_. Looked just like him. It was uncanny." I let myself remember the man's eyes. His eyes made me feel embarrassed the most. It made me second-guess myself. Maybe it wasn't a look-alike. Maybe it really was Patrick Stump. But I stopped myself there. It couldn't go beyond that. I already embarrassed myself enough and I needed to focus on training. "Whatever. I'm pretty sure the guy won't come back so you'll see my hunky self in no time."

Tía Peti squealed in protest. "Don't call yourself 'hunky'. You are not a boy!"

I cackled at her reaction. She hated when I called myself that. For as much as I train, my body didn't look like a bodybuilder. Boxing kept me strong, yoga kept me lean, and gymnastics kept me flexible. Yoga was boring but it prevented me from looking butch. I don't mean any offense! But I prefer not to look stronger than a guy, even if I could beat him to a pulp. I did take pride in my abs though. I was pretty sure I looked hotter than a male model.

I rose from my chair and gave Peti a quick kiss on the cheek. "I gotta go, Tía. I need to keep training for next month."

Peti pouted. "Don't forget about me! You must visit!"

"Yeah, yeah. I promise."

Before I left, I quickly went behind the cashier's counter to the fridge. I grabbed the extra banana that Peti always left for me and shouted a much deserved "Thanks" in her direction. I was freaking starving! Then I ran out the door.

When I hit the gym, I tackled the weights first. I wanted them out of the way so I could focus on gymnastics.

If I didn't love boxing so much, a gymnastics career would have been a close second.

I ran toward the gymnastics section of the gym in an excited frenzy. Half of the place was strictly trampolines. I loved being there in the mid-afternoon. The room was bare of people since the next group class wasn't for another hour and a half. I had the place all to myself.

As much as I wanted to start jumping, I knew I had to limber myself up. The last time I did that, it affected my boxing. My footwork was lazy, my punches were forced instead of natural and I couldn't duck for the life of me. I shuddered. _Never again._

When I felt was loose enough, I went for the trampolines. Not only were the exercises good for my body overall, but the reason why I loved it so much was because I felt like I was flying. My powerful jumps made me soar longer and I liked the feeling of my stomach rising with me. I kept the adrenaline rushing as I jumped out of the trampoline and ran for the springboard. I flipped like a maniac across the mat and then I stopped abruptly. I grabbed my iPod from my duffel bag and connected it to the stereo.

Fall Out Boy's I Don't Care filled up the space with their drums and guitars. My heart pounded and I felt pumped. I lifted myself on the balance beam and practiced my routine. I didn't compete but that didn't make it any less hard to do. Especially since the song wasn't normally used for the balance beam. I was rough and callous but surprisingly graceful. But the hard part was coming, the aerial twist that required me to land on my hands on the beam. I usually chicken out and land on my feet but today I wanted to try again. As I was falling face down from the twist, I shot my legs straight up. My feet were pointed and my calves were taut and hard like rocks. As I extended my arms out, I expected my hands to give out from the weight and crash land on my face. I opened my eyes without realizing I closed them in the first place and was astounded to see my hands gripping the beam without any trouble. I let out an incredulous laugh and wished that Connor, or anyone really, was there to witness it all. I continued the rest of the routine in ease and the song left me in a care-free mood.

I ended my training on a high-note and sincerely hoped that for the rest of the month, training would go on without a hitch.

I got my wish but I should've extended the same sentiment during my match.

"Connor, I might throw up." I was clutching my stomach as if it would keep the contents inside at bay.

"The hell you are! I promoted the crap out of this event so you are going to fight whether you like it or not!" He shouted at me. I glared at him. _Promoting him to manager made his head even bigger._

"You're so supportive, coach."

He rubbed a hand on his tired face. His eyes softened when he peeked at me through his fingers. "Sorry, kiddo. Look, I know this is your first pro fight but other than that, it's not any different."

"No head gear. No cushion if they slam my face."

"If they get your face, you let them. That's on you."

"Is this your way of helping me?" I asked brazenly.

He smirked. "Yes. I need you pumped, motivated, energized. I haven't seen an insecure Jasmin in years and we need to keep it that way."

My arms were itching to cross on my chest. He was right. I felt extremely nervous tonight. I had no headgear and the crowd was so much bigger than I expected. Connor plastered flyers at street corners, local businesses, college bulletin boards. He even had ads playing through popular radio stations. The amount of money he poured into this was incredible, but just looking at the crowd, I knew we would make that money back, and then some.

I was forced to look at Connor again. "Don't focus on the crowd. This fight is between you and Minerva."

We were at opposite ends of the stadium in our own locker rooms but I could still remember how she looked like. I glanced down at myself and reconsidered my decision to keep my body lean. She was ripped and still managed to stay in my weight class. My new boxing gear felt new except for the gloves. I've been breaking them in this past month and they felt like part of my skin now. The satin of my shorts felt silky smooth against my legs. The robe that covered my arms and shoulders had my last name sewed at the back. Connor even had my parents names on the inside near my wrists. Even my sports bra felt like high quality. Connor pulled out the stops to celebrate my first fight, but I was stupidly self-conscience at the moment.

The rolling in my stomach converted into a tsunami. My knees felt weaker and for a bit, I thought I might drown.

"God, make this stop."

I felt Connor's hands on my shoulders and looked me square in the eye. "What's your favorite song?"

My jaw slacked. "What?"

"What song makes you feel on top of the world?"

I blinked a few times before I could answer. "I Don't Care. Rat-A-Tat. The Phoenix. Chicago Is So Two Years Ago." If it wasn't obvious, Fall Out Boy was pretty much what I ever listened to.

He nodded encouragingly. "You're already a great boxer, Jasmin. But when that music blares out, you transform. You're a monster. You're a god. Not even a hurricane can take you out."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. Connor acting like this wasn't something I saw everyday. His hands slid down from my shoulder to my wrists. "They'd be so proud of you, Jasmin." He whispered.

I couldn't stop the tear from escaping but I regained control again. "Ass. You made me cry." I smiled at him so he would know I was joking.

He punched my arm lightly. "Good. Now that we have that out of the way, I need you to focus on those songs."

I raised my eyebrows slightly. "Really? No observing the enemy?"

"Of course you still do that, dumb shit. But keep those songs in the back of your head. I'm not kidding about the transformation. It's like you go super saiyan."

I nodded and already played the soundtrack in my head. It pumped me up. I felt ready. More than ready.

Connor left me alone to collect myself as he prepared to start the fight. Then I heard the static of the mic coming from the PA system. Minutes later, Connor hauled me up and pushed me in front of him. I left the locker room and was surprised to hear the crowd roar louder as the host introduced the fighters. Were people that excited to see two female boxers duke it out? I quickly rolled my eyes since guys would definitely get excited over that. I hoped they didn't think there would be mud or whip cream involved.

"On this corner, we have the goddess of war at 5 feet, 8 inches and 135 pounds of lightweight glory! Minerva Griffon!" The commentator pointed at her and the crowd went wild. _I think we found the crowd favorite_, I noted.

"And on this corner, a delicate flower with a mean punch arrives at the scene! Does winning second at the US Amateur Competition mean anything here?" He regarded me with a devilish glint. "Probably not, sweetheart. Let's introduce our newest punching bag! 5 feet, 2 inches and 130 pounds: Jasmin Romero!" There was a polite applause that bordered awkward, but what brought a smile on my face was Tía Peti.

"GO KICK HER DRUGGED UP ASS JASMIN!"

I loved my annoying aunt even more.

Connor pushed me down on the stool and gave me an ice-cold water bottle. I drank a huge swig while I kept my eyes on Minerva. She looked constipated because she heard Peti's comment. Maybe she did take steroids. Connor rubbed my shoulders to loosen me up and leaned down to my ear. "Focus. Concentrate. She relies on her muscles so I need you to be quick and smart. Go super saiyan on her drugged up ass." He clapped my shoulder and I smiled again. I was definitely ready.

I put the mouthguard in and breathed deeply. I had The Phoenix blaring mentally and it made me excited.

"Alright, ladies. Make this clean." His glint returned. "Or dirty. Deal?"

I lifted my gloved hand and she punched it dead center. I tried very hard not to hate her guts.

I stood in position, having done it so many times it felt as natural as blinking.

As the commentator started counting down, I looked out at the crowd to find my aunt. Instead, I found the same eyes that I had been trying to avoid. He stood at the back with his friend from the coffee shop. But with his fedora is place, I no longer believed it was a look-alike.

My mind went quiet but my heart sped up even more. It felt like it wanted to jump out of my chest. I was calm and a jumble of nerves at the same time.

I actually met Patrick Stump all those months ago. And now he was here.

"...1! Begin!"

I felt the glove hit my cheek before I saw it coming.

Then the music blasted on again and even louder than before. I felt like I was going to burst, as if I was on fire. But it felt great. Exhilarating. And I was mad.

This bitch was going down.


	3. Night Out

**A/N: Short chapter today. It felt like a good stopping point and it would have been pointless to add anything more. Hope you like!**

**Please read and review, and most importantly enjoy!**

**Thanks,**

**Jasmin / loveneverends33**

* * *

><p>She definitely wasn't a gymnast.<p>

Before tonight, the band just wanted to hang out at a bar except Pete wanted to explore the city.

"C'mon! We just finished an interview, not a concert. Besides, there's a place I want to check out."

"Goddammit, Pete! I just want to sleep!" Joe said irately.

Marie's pregnancy had been taking a toll on Joe. She was only 2 months pregnant but his reaction didn't seem to bother Pete in the slightest. "You can sleep when we go back to the hotel."

"I wouldn't be so fucking tired if you didn't change the interview time!"

"What? I made it later in the day! I thought you guys would love that!"

If they were all on their tour bus sleeping schedule, Pete would have been right. Except they were no longer on tour. And they were still trying to adjust to the jet lag from the long flight to Richmond. It would've been a phone interview, but Pete went behind everybody's back and changed it.

He had something up his sleeve but Patrick had no idea what went through Pete's head half of the time.

As they rounded a street corner, Pete stood against an old brick wall that had a huge poster plastered on it. It was a drawing of the mythical griffon. It had an intricate crown with horns swelling outwards shining in gold. Bright red boxing gloves hung on the griffon's neck and wilted flowers rained around it. It looked menacing and Patrick couldn't help but shiver. The drawing creeped him out. At the bottom, bold lettering told him "THE GRIFFON STRIKES AGAIN AT ARTY'S GYM! SEPTEMBER 8!"

"Oh. Is this the fight that you've been all worked up for?" Andy asked.

"You changed the date so we could make it to your precious fight?" Joe didn't seem pleased by the news at all.

Pete just nodded happily. "Yeah!" Joe got red in the face and looked like he wanted to snap Pete in half. "Hold on! Now I know you guys don't care much about boxing, but wait till you see it! I promise you won't be disappointed!" He suddenly winked at Patrick conspicuously.

Patrick just raised an eyebrow. "What the hell are you doing?"

Pete wrapped an arm around Joe's shoulder in a vain attempt to calm him down. It just made him even more annoyed. "You'll see!"

Pete opened the door for them and smiled when he saw their dumbstruck gazes. Most of all, Patrick's reaction.

It wasn't just any fight. It was a women's professional boxing match.

And not just any match. It was Jasmin's.

_She's a boxer_, Patrick thought.

He saw a man massaging her neck, speaking close to her ear. She kept nodding and continuously drank sips of her water. Her eyes were focused on her opponent. Determined.

The other girl she was versing was built. Ridiculously built. She must've been the griffon girl. The poster on the brick wall made him feel uneasy again.

He couldn't stop staring at Jasmin, though. He had this sudden urge to run up to the ring and grab her. He didn't want to see her getting hurt. He remembered the girl crying at the memorial she made for her dead parents. Did she honestly think she could do this?

He took a good look at her. Her arms were more pronounced as she lifted them. Her stomach had hard cut lines due to her defined abdomen. She held her head high and her eyes were defiant. It wasn't that she might win. She _will_ win.

He knocked his assumptions out of his head. He shouldn't have questioned a thing. It was obvious that she was strong enough for this. She looked like she could and would conquer everything. Pete's voice tore his gaze away from her.

"She's only been training for 2 years and she won second in her weight class in the US Amateur Boxing competition."

"The bigger girl?" Andy pointed to griffon girl.

Pete smiled even bigger. "No. The smaller one."

Patrick realized that Pete already knew about the girl when they first saw her months ago. "You knew who she was?"

Pete nodded. "I've been following her career ever since she started making a name for herself. She's not super well-known but she's an awesome fighter. I didn't think we'd see her when we visited."

Patrick tilted his head. "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"'Cuz I thought it was hilarious that you fell in love with a boxer at first sight!"

Joe and Andy whipped their heads to Patrick. He narrowed his eyes in response. "I don't love her."

"You practically drooled when you saw her again."

Patrick ignored him and decided to check out Jasmin again. And in that moment, time stood still. She swept her eyes to him. It was like she knew he was there. She was… surprised. She grinned and he thought it was the most adorable thing he had ever seen. And then her head rolled back when Griffon punched her the face.

"Ouch," Joe commented. He touched his face as if he could feel her pain.

Pete hissed through his mouth. "That's not a good start."

It really wasn't. She tried to regain her balance but Griffon hit her hard again. Thankfully, Jasmin blocked her and only punched her arms. Griffon was ruthless. It looked like all she wanted to do was beat Jasmin to death.

Griffon swung for her and Jasmin quickly ducked. The bigger girl lost her momentum and fell into elastic bands. As soon as Griffon turned around, Jasmin landed a powerful punch to the jaw. Without any hesitation, she continued her assault at her ribs. Griffon didn't want none of that. She tried to hit Jasmin again, but she kept dodging. She wasn't afraid of the fists flying her way. In fact, she was enjoying it. It was like she was skating backwards, but then she stopped abruptly.

Griffon thought she had a chance.

Jasmin blocked her and jabbed at her face again. She didn't stop there as she landed repetitive uppercuts. Patrick looked around and found amazed expressions on everyone's faces. No one thought the tiny girl could fight like that.

Jasmin prepared to land one last punch but the bell rang. The referee separated the two women and sent them to their corners.

The commentator rose onto the ring and chuckled awkwardly. "Looks like this flower has thorns! Will the goddess of war finally be defeated? Will Minerva live up to her name? It's going to be an interesting fight tonight, folks!"

"That was just the first round?" Patrick asked nervously.

Pete nodded. "Yeah, max is ten rounds."

Patrick's eyes bugged out. "You're kidding?" The bell rang again signaling that the rest period finished.

"It won't come to that. Jasmin is already getting a good start. I bet good money on her so I know she won't disappoint."

Andy laughed lightly. "You would bet on a women's boxing fight."

Joe fell into his seat with a beer in hand. "Ok, Pete. I'm going to forgive you dragging us out here since alcohol is involved."

Pete popped some peanuts in his mouth. "Good to know."

Jasmin jumped out of her stool while it seemed like Minerva wanted to stay put.

Patrick wanted to keep watching but the guys decided now was the perfect time to talk.

"So this is the girl you told us about, Pete?" Joe asked.

"Yeah! Same one who made Patrick into a hormonal mess." He shoved Patrick lightly as he glared at him.

"I was not a hormonal mess," Patrick denied.

"We even followed her for a while. I had no idea about her parents though."

"Pete, shut up."

"What happened to her parents?" Andy wanted to know.

"Her mom died from a heart attack and her dad was killed in a car accident a few months later."

"How the hell do you know this?" Patrick asked angrily. Jasmin's private life was none of Pete's business.

"I've been looking her up online ever since we met her."

"You've been _stalking_ her?!"

Pete just smiled. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

Patrick didn't dignify him with a response. In all honesty, if he had known that she was an up-and-coming boxer, he would have googled her, too. It didn't give him any right to know though.

Andy was amused to see Patrick acting so jumpy. "You're not so innocent either, Patrick. You guys still followed her."

Patrick slouched even further in his seat. It was moments like this that he wished he had a hoodie to hide in.

Joe shook his head with a tiny smile on his face. "Have you even talked to the girl?"

Patrick opened his mouth but Pete beat him to the punch. "He literally froze up."

Joe choked on his beer as he laughed. Patrick released an annoyed breath. "I did not freeze up. She immediately recognized me but she thought she was imagining things. So no, we didn't really talk."

Pete slurped on a large coke. He must've gotten it while Patrick watched the fight. "Talk to her after the match."

Patrick tried very hard to look uninterested. "Why would I want to talk to her?"

Andy slapped a hand on Patrick's shoulder. "Dude, we haven't even met the girl but she already has you wrapped around her pinky."

Patrick didn't like how the band was ganging up on him. Yes, he thought she was adorable. And hot. A little scary too, but for some reason that made her all the more attractive. But he was divorced, she was too young and their careers separated them even further apart. It shouldn't even be considered… right?

He ignored his friends and tuned into the fight once more. He saw a ring girl walk around with a number five printed on a white square.

_5th round already?_ Patrick thought. He felt bad that he didn't pay attention earlier.

Minerva looked considerably worse for wear. It was clear that Jasmin was winning but Minerva wouldn't go down easily. She even managed to punch Jasmin's face again if her bruising eye and cheek were any indication. But Jasmin still moved like the energizer bunny and Minerva was sluggish on her feet.

Jasmin landed an easy punch to Griffon's ribs and she keeled over from the contact. She finally ended her misery by swiftly aiming a left hook to her cheek. Griffon actually spun around and no longer stood on her own two feet. She fell.

The referee jumped to the ring to hold Jasmin back which Patrick thought was unnecessary._ She won. What more can she do?_ The commentator counted down while the crowd yelled at Minerva.

"Get up!"

"You can do it, Minerva!"

"...3, 2, 1! She's down!" The commentator walked back to Jasmin and raised her arm. "We have a winner! Jasmin Romero wins!"

Patrick surprised himself by standing up and clapping for her. He couldn't help it, he was so proud! It was like her victory was his, too. "Yeah! Go Jasmin!"

He glanced down at his friends with a happy smile on his face. It felt awkward when he noticed their gaping mouths. That was when he realized what he did.

A piercing shriek caught everyone's attention. "Oh, my god! It's Fall Out Boy!"

_Shit_, Patrick frowned.

Soon the guys were swarmed by fans taking photos and asking for autographs. Someone even stole Joe's beer. Usually Patrick wouldn't have minded if a fan or two recognized him on the street but too many people were around. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jasmin being escorted away by the man from earlier. His chance of seeing her afterwards diminished by the second as the crowd around them grew larger.

"Patrick!" He heard someone yelling his name and pulling on his arm. It was Pete. "We gotta cut loose!"

The guys weren't at a concert on a stage with bodyguards protecting them. They were out in public with no physical security separating them from grabby fans. Pete was right. It was time to cut loose.

Patrick remembered his legs and ran out the door.

As he ran, he felt a heavy weight drop to his stomach. This time, he couldn't use the excuse of coffee coming back to bite him in the butt. He frowned at the realization.

_Crap. I miss her._


End file.
